


Regicide

by alexjosten



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Neil Josten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjosten/pseuds/alexjosten
Summary: Long fingers from broken hands ghost over the landmines and grenade pins of Neil’s body. His switchblade heart is jammed shut by scar tissue they both share and the ammunition in Neil’s mouth is all blanks. Neil’s hand is a gun to Kevin’s chest, and he lies down to accept his execution.





	Regicide

**Author's Note:**

> A deleted scene from an AU where Kevin, Neil and Jean live in an apartment together where they primarily speak French. Kevin claims to be straight but has always had a thing for Neil when he's drunk. Neil's struggling with his demisexuality and trying to work out why people would have sex outside of relationships so decided to give Kevin a try.
> 
> French translations at the end. They are left deliberately untranslated because in this situation, words mean nothing. Thank you [@dreamingbelle](http://dreamingbelle.tumblr.com/) for the beta.

Neil is the final puzzle piece that slots into place between Kevin’s lap and the warm hand slipping up the back of his shirt. Kevin kisses like he has something to prove and everything to lose, and it robs Neil of enough oxygen that he can convince himself this is a good idea. He knows this is entirely circumstantial, and it shouldn’t normally happen. The edges of the puzzle- their empty apartment, Jean away for the weekend, the lights off in a power outage- form a conveniently misshapen frame. It allows for the other pieces to be jammed into place wrong- a reason to talk without a sports channel as a buffer, a reason to drink and make a game out of it, a reason to say fuck it let’s give it a try.

Neil is too many shots deep to care when his fingers yank a groan from Kevin’s hair. His chin prays to the ceiling for mercy and Neil gives him none, teeth merciless down his throat. Purple suits royalty, and this is his coronation.

Long fingers from broken hands ghost over the landmines and grenade pins of Neil’s body. His switchblade heart is jammed shut by scar tissue they both share and the ammunition in Neil’s mouth is all blanks. Neil’s hand is a gun to Kevin’s chest, and he lies down to accept his execution.

Neil stops. He inhales. In the eye of the storm, Kevin waits under him with Neil’s knees pinning him to the leather couch. He exhales. Rain lashes the windows of their high rise and Neil wraps his fingers around the cold neck of their liquid courage and lets it burn away his hesitation. 

“Tu me rends fou,” Kevin begs him, and Neil pours into his mouth, chasing it with his own.

He sits back, drinks again. Neil watches, detached, as Kevin unzips his fly for him and tugs his jeans down his thighs. Neil has the audacity to laugh and ask, “Tu veux qu'on couche ensemble?”

“J’ai envie de toi,” Kevin concedes, and when Neil doesn’t move, he adds with a touch of desperation, “vraiment.”

The bottle clinks against the glass coffee table as Neil sets it down. Cracks are transparent in Kevin’s nerve when Neil stands, but he glazes over when Neil’s jeans and boxers drop to the floor. His resolve is reforged when his own join them. Neil is iridescent when he returns to his throne like it is his birthright and Kevin splinters under his touch.

Neil’s hand constricts around them and Kevin hisses into the heat. Fingertips puncture Neil’s underbody and pull him closer. Neil drips venom onto Kevin’s waiting tongue.

“Je ne suis qu’un objet sexuel pour toi.”

“Non,” Kevin’s lie is a starting pistol.

Neil was born to run, “Mentir ne te va pas.”

The timing is off, too rushed to be a marathon, too uncoordinated to be a relay. They sprint for the finish and run laps in each other’s mouths only to drown out the judge’s verdict. Victory weighs heavy like bronze around their necks, an unwanted reminder of what they had never aimed for. Their smiles are polite for the audience while they remain on the podium, but once Neil shuts himself in his locker-sized room, he takes off his mask and takes out his phone.

Text Message   
Recipient: Andrew Minyard   
29th Oct, 02:10

i guess i can understand it

**Author's Note:**

> Kevin: Tu me rends fou - You’re driving me crazy.  
> Neil: Tu veux qu'on couche ensemble? - You want us to sleep together?  
> Kevin: J’ai envie de toi, vraiment. - I want you a lot.  
> Neil: Je ne suis qu’un objet sexuel pour toi. - You’re just using me for sex.  
> Kevin: Non - No.  
> Neil: Mentir ne te va pas. - Lying doesn't suit you.
> 
>  
> 
> Come say hi or send me prompts on [@petalplate](https://petalplate.tumblr.com/)


End file.
